


The Trick is to Keep Breathing

by ninhursag



Category: Homicide: Life on the Street
Genre: Alternate Canon, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-23
Updated: 1999-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mild au, assume that Fallen Heroes happened as filmed but ended the moment Bayliss got shot. Both Kellerman and Pembleton are still on the force. Lewis catches a potential redball and ends up partnering with Kellerman again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a beautiful maiden. It happened that a great and terrible war swept across her country, devouring everything in its path. Her older brother went into the army and far away from home. She and her family went east, fleeing the conflict, but life as refugees was hard and harsh and when the word came that their village had been liberated from the invaders they gladly headed for home. But alas, the liberation was temporary and when the invaders came back all the family, but that missing eldest brother, were captured by the enemy.

Now this enemy had a strange hatred festering in their hearts and toward the maiden and all her people, and for the crime of daring to be one of those people the punishment was death. They herded them into camps, forcing them into slave labor, and finally into gas chambers, men women and children. But the battle raged hot in the maiden's village. So that she and her family never made it as far as the camps. The enemy sent them on a forced march, with neither food nor water, for days on end. They marched them until they dropped off, one by one, dead of starvation and exhaustion.

But the maiden was in fact very beautiful, and an enemy soldier saw her and became infatuated. If she would only marry him and give up her faith, he would intercede and save her life. Her mother begged her to save herself, but she clung to her family and would not be swayed. She kept the faith. She died an unspeakable death.  
When Meldrick Lewis thought of his childhood, something he generally avoided as much as possible, his brother popped to the forefront. A big child for his age, as if nature had compensated him with size for what it stole in everything else. Anthony Lewis was everything Meldrick planned never to be. Wild and cruelly emotional...

The boy lay his ear to the wall, listening to the scritch, scritch of the rats. If he squeezed his eyes shut the sound seemed to echo through his head just like it was the big hall of a church. Scritch scritch. If it went on long enough it seemed to become a pattern, almost... musical.

"Hey, Meldrick, you awake?" Anthony asked loudly, breaking the pattern of scritches. Meldrick's eyes snapped open as his brother's finger pinched tightly around his arm.

"What's up?"

"I jus' wanted to see if you're awake. They gonna come eat us you know."

"Who is?"

"Rats. When we fall asleep the rats come and chew on our eyelids. One day they gonna bite through and eat out our eyes."

"No they ain't."

"They are," Anthony smiled knowingly, "They tole me they gonna."

"Rats don't talk," Meldrick pointed out skeptically.

"You callin me a liar? Huh, Meldrick?" Anthony's voice darkened and his fingers on Mel's arms tightened to the point of pain. Meldrick shook his head and swallowed hard, but decided to ignore it.

"No, I ain't calling you nothin, I believe you, Anthony."

"Cause I could help em, Mel. I could help the rats bite your eyes right out when you asleep."

"No." Meldrick bit on his lower lip.

"You should go to bed. You got school tomorrow."

"No."

"Go to bed, Meeeeldrick." Anthony giggled hysterically. "Better keep your eyelids really glued."

"Someday, you gonna try and jump out that window and I ain't gonna catch you," Meldrick hissed a reply. "I just gonna let you fall and I won't even be sorry."

"You won't do it. You gotta love your own brother," the whispered words filtered into Meldrick's thoughts, but he ignored them and went back to sleep.  
"Detective Lewis, there's a body downtown. Lloyd street. You're up," a secretary called as she tossed a message on Lewis' desk. He glanced around the squad room. Pembleton was still sitting with Bayliss at the hospital. Falsone and Stivers were hip deep in crime solving and Munch was even deeper in paperwork, trying to get the open cases of the wounded detectives into some semblance of order.

Mike Kellerman was sitting with his feet up, pretending to read a newspaper. Lewis bit his lip and wondered if there was any way he could just take this one alone. He glanced toward Gee's office and tried to imagine what the lieutenant would say about him ignoring a perfectly good potential secondary.

"Hey, Mikey, you busy?"

"I'm reading this." Mike didn't look up from his paper.

"I got me a body. Wanna come?"

"Me?" Mike did look up at that, faint surprise lighting in his blue eyes.

"See any other warm bodies round here?"

"Oh." The light in Mike's eyes died. "So it's like that."

"It is what it is. You comin' or what?"

"All right. Let me grab my coat."

Lewis pulled a set keys for them, trying to ignore the nervous jangling in his stomach. Outwardly, his face was placid and his features serene. Not at all the look of a man who was going on his first real case with the ex-partner he had effectively dumped when Mike needed someone the most. He sneaked a glance over at Mike. The man looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be nervous or angry. Meldrick was hoping for angry, he could deal with that.

Anyway, it was just one body. Maybe it would be open and shut and forget about it. Lewis took a deep breath and walked over to the Cavilers. He didn't bother to look to see if Kellerman was following him or not. He did wait to hear the passenger door slam before he started the engine. He pulled out of the lot and stepped on the pedal heading up Broadway.

"So, did they tell you what we pulled?" Mike asked quietly, after enduring the silence for all of a minute.

"Some old man they said, left in a Dumpster outside of the B'nai Israel Synagogue. 27 Lloyd Street."

"Homeless?"

"They didn't say. Let's just wait and see instead of worrying about it now, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay," Mike muttered. He began drumming his fingers randomly against his knee and the dashboard. "So how's Barbara?"

"Fine."

"That's good."

"Yeah, she-- Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Fidgeting like that. It's damn irritating. Why don't you smoke a cigarette or something?"

"I'm trying to quit."

"Again?"

"Those things'll kill me. If you don't kill us first-- watch out!" Mike called as they narrowly missed sideswiping the curb when Meldrick took a far too wide left on East Lombard.

"Since when has that bothered you?" Meldrick asked, as they stopped at a light. He could almost hear the snap as Mike turned to face him. Clear blue eyes blazed with sudden fury, an anger Lewis had seen, but almost never directed at him.

"Meldrick, people got shot in our squad room. Ballard almost lost her foot! Gharty almost died! Three uniforms... three cops are dead. For fuck's sakes, Bayliss could STILL die anytime. Bayliss. And I wanna quit smoking, okay? Does that bother you?"

"No, it don't. Good luck quitting," he whispered, staring into burning blue eyes for a moment, not realizing the light had turned green until the car behind him let its horn wail. He shivered and turned his eyes away, out toward the window. "If you would quit gabbing and let me keep my eye on the road, you wouldn't have to worry 'bout my driving so damn much."

"Yeah, since when does anything help your driving?" Mike murmured the outburst over as if it had never happened. "Bet you never asked Falsone to quit gabbing."

"Like he'd have listened." Lewis snickered. "Let me tell you, Stivers' more than welcome to that mope." Lewis shook his head. Kellerman smiled tentatively, basking in the momentary camaraderie.

With a halting screech, Lewis pulled into the scene, narrowly missing a random officer from CSU.

"Jesus, Lewis, you're an asshole!" The dark haired woman called.

"Look in the mirror, Riley!" Lewis called back. "You got your panties tied in a knot again." He laughed and ignored the finger she flipped him.

"What's with her?" Mike asked softly, shaking his head.

"Long story. Mostly she just a bitch."

"Yeah, that, or someone didn't bother to take Munch's brilliant advice about sticking wicks in company ink."

"Shut up, Kellerman." The words could have been teasing but Meldrick's voice gave them the edge of harshness.

"Fine," Mike muttered, staring at the ground. Lewis looked away from the hurt he'd caused and turned to the officer on the scene as though nothing had happened.

"So, Officer Gordon, tell me what we've got."

"White male, about seventy. Looks like he was shot once through the heart, very neat. But take a look at this." The tall man guided the two detectives toward the Dumpster.

"Aw, hell." Lewis ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "Aw... damn."

The man's shirt was opened at the chest, and a swastika was prominently engraved in the skin.

"Hello redball," Mike hissed.

"Maybe. The guy have any ID on him?"

"Funny you should ask. Yes. Our Vic had a wallet on him. Fifty bucks, ID, and credit cards, all still there as handy as you please. His name was Ira Scholtzman, the guy who found him, Rabbi Rosen, ID him for us too."

"So this wasn't just a cover for a robbery?"

"Could be a hate crime. Could just be a way of covering up a domestic."

"Then I suggest we find out if he has a family to get domestic with. Oh, damn!" Mike whispered suddenly, stopping his inspection of the body.

"What now?" Lewis muttered impatiently. Mike shook his head and pointed to the man's arm. A faint, small blue number was tattooed on. "No."

"The world is a very fucked up place. I think I'd better talk to Rabbi Rosen," Mike stalked away, not waiting for Lewis to say a word.  
The Rabbi was a tall, bearded man in a suit. His black eyes were red around the edges and his face seemed to be trapped in an expression of disbelief. Mike approached him gently.

"Rabbi Rosen? I'm Detective Kellerman, with the homicide unit. You were the one who found Mr. Scholtzman?"

"I-- Yes, I was opening up the shul for morning minyan. Ira came every day you know, except when he or Tatya was sick. We depended on him. We've been having trouble getting minyans lately, what with the college kids going home for the summer."

"A minyan?"

"A service has to have ten adult males to begin, Detective."

"Right. Who was Tatya, his wife?"

"Tatyana. Yes, she is-- was his wife. Good God, how am I going to tell her about this?" The man stared at Mike helplessly. Mike touched his shoulder gently, encouraging him to go on.

"We can handle that, Rabbi, don't worry about it. Could you just tell me what you saw?"

"I was coming in around the back when I saw an odd shape sticking out of the Dumpster... I thought those damn skinheads had-- had vandalized-- but it was Ira."

"Have you been having a problem with vandals?"

"This time of year, school letting out. I suppose they're bored. Yes, we've had problems."

"You knew Mr. Scholtzman well?"

"I saw him every day. But he's the quiet sort, keeps himself to himself."

"Any family besides his wife?"

"He has two daughters, Rebecca and Rachel. Rachel lives in Munsie, up in New York, but Rebecca and her daughter Hava live in town, ever since Rebecca's husband passed away. I can give you the addresses."

"That would be very helpful."

"Anything I else I can do, you just let me know. You know, I just can't, can't believe anyone would do this. The poor old man. Who would do this?"

"We'll do our best to find that out. Can you tell us anything about those skinheads, that been harassing you? Do you have any names, descriptions?"

"A few names. Descriptions. We've gone to the police before, but they haven't done much to help us. I guess it takes something like this."

"We will help you, Rabbi."

"Of course you will. You catch the animals who did this, Detective Kellerman. You'd better."  
"Damn, poor bastard. Everything he lived through and he ends up like this." Dr. Dyer shook her head.

"Life's like that sometimes." Lewis shook his head.

"You could say that, " the ME said gravely. She drew back the sheet to show a swastika, carefully and brutally carved in the victim's flesh. "He was dead when it was done," she added. Mike nodded.

Lewis stared down at the body, feeling suddenly tired. "He got out. He got out of the camps and now this. See, it goes to show you."

"Show what, Lewis?"

"There ain't really no out. You slated for a violent death, that's what you gonna get, one way or the other. Ain't no way out."

"There's always a way out. This is America, land of the free, home of the great escape."

"Escape's an illusion. That's all it is. What do you know bout it anyway, Mikey?"

"Never mind. Anything else you can tell us, Dyer?"

"A single shot with a nine millimeter, clean through the heart. He died instantly," she explained. "I'll have the final report for you two in a few days." Mike nodded and turned to Lewis.

"So, what, we thinking some skinhead did him?"

"Yeah, looks like it. "

"I'll go round up a few skinheads, then. You get the family."

"Hey, who's the primary on this case, Mikey?"

"Look, if I get a viable suspect I'll call you. But somebody has to talk to these guys, and somebody has to get the family. No offense, but you know those assholes are more likely to talk to me."

"None taken. I'm just saying we should be working this one together is all."

"Do you really think that's a great idea, Lewis?"

"Mikey--"

"If I get anything, I'll beep you."

"Wait, I--" But Mike was already gone and Lewis couldn't bring himself to go after him.  
Thirty minutes later, Lewis rang the bell of a small townhouse. Internally, he steeled himself. This was the part of the job that everyone hated, but Lewis found that grieving relatives made him more uncomfortable then most. He could never find the words to comfort, to ease the pain. His was not a face, or a manner that invited confidence. As he'd once told Megan Russert, the only confessions he got were in the box. Crosetti, Kellerman, hell even Falsone, had been better at this than he was.

The door opened before he managed to drive himself crazy wondering what this one would be like, hoping like hell the granddaughter knew something helpful so he could close this case fast. Hoping like hell she didn't cry.

The woman who opened the door for him was dark haired and slight, with a set, serious expression. Young too, she might have been legal to drink, but barely. She looked him up and down, confused. "Can I help you?"

"Ms. Hava Greer?"

"I'm Hava Greer, yes. Who are you?"

"Ms. Greer, I'm Detective Meldrick Lewis, with the Baltimore City Police Department. Can I come in?" She stared blankly at the badge he displayed and then nodded.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Is-- There's something wrong, isn't there?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Your grandfather's body was found out side of the B'nai Israel Synagogue this morning." Her eyes widened slightly, but that was her only perceptible reaction.

"What do you mean found? He's not dead."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. He was shot once in the heart with a nine millimeter. He died instantly, no suffering."

She blinked and then seemed to collect herself. "My mother is out of town. I'll have to call her, she has to get back in time to bury him."

"The ME will have to do an autopsy before you can collect the body."

"We have to bury it within twenty-four hours. That's the law. I have to call my mother."

"I'll talk to the ME and see what we can do for you. But in the meantime, I have to ask, did your Grandfather have any enemies?"

"Zedi Ira? He was a hero. My grandfather knew what suffering really meant. You know suffering, starvation, misery, seeing your friends and loved ones shipped off to be murdered every day. And finally a train ride to murder for you. He was at Dachau."

"Yeah, we saw the number on his arm."

"Tell me what you're going to do to find the ones who did this?"

"Well, Ma'am, we'll need anything you can think of that might help. Did your grandfather have any enemies, people he may have upset?"

"Enemies? To make enemies you must first have dealings with humanity. My grandfather was not very capable in those areas. The Nazis took that from him," she hissed, real anger visible in her eyes. It made any emotion she'd exhibited earlier seem bland in contrast.

"If he was as cold as you say, maybe he offended someone. People get angry, they do things. Anything at all, even if it don't seem important to you."

"It's possible, I don't know. I guess you'd better talk to my Grandmother about that."

"Do you know if he owed any money? Maybe that he couldn't pay back?"

"A loan shark? Don't be ridiculous. Why don't you just talk to those neo-nazi bastards? They've been vandalizing the Shul you know."

"We have to look into all the possible angles, Ma'am."

"Those neo-nazi punks are your angle. They're scum."

"They are that." He agreed.

"People don't understand, they think that kind of hate is dead in this country. They think it's something that happened to some dirt scratching peasants in Russia or something," she continued agitatedly. Meldrick sat back and let her talk.

"Those people in those German suburbs weren't peasants on the tundra ridden down by Cossacks. They were just like you. They were rich and assimilated; they had nice German friends. They were part of life and society. They were safe. Oh sure, there were hints, can't forget about those hints. Some invective sprayed on the walls of synagogues. Vandalism. A couple of politicians with views we don't like to think about. Some nasty names. Pat Robertson. Louis Farrakhan." She stared pointedly at Meldrick but hurried on before he had time to interject anything. "Kike, right? Lying, cheating greedy Jew."

"Lots of people can say they were persecuted," Lewis pointed out. He didn't flinch under her baleful glare.

"I'm not excusing people dealing crack and shooting babies on the street, Detective." She spat. "My people came out of prejudice as bad as anyone has ever suffered, with their minds and morals intact. I just think it's too soon to get comfortable. I think my grandfather's murder is proof that no matter how comfortable we get anywhere this isn't our country. We only have one country." Her eyes shone passionately and he found himself almost captivated in spite of himself.

"Can you tell me anything else about your grandfather, Ms. Greer?" he asked calmly, shattering her momentum. She shrugged.

"You'd better talk to my grandmother about that, Detective."

"Yes, Ma'am, I'll be seeing her next. Here's my card, if you think of anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to give me a call."

"I'll do that," she said. Just as she was about to shut the door after him, she called something out. "There's a word for it you know."

"For what?" He turned back toward her.

"Hate like that. Amalak. That's the word."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Sure you do. You're an African American." She almost smiled, before closing the door.  
Tatyana Scholtzman had her granddaughter's clear, dark eyes, still visible under the wrinkles and shock of white hair. She stood ramrod straight, making her seem taller than her five feet.

"Friends? Ira?" Tatya shook her head. "He would not have been able to make any or keep them."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Scholtzman?"

"Tatya, please, detective, call me Tatya. It was not always so, but my husband was a difficult man to get to know."

"How long has he had this problem?"

"Since the war."

"You mean the Second World War?"

"For people my age, Detective, there's only one war of any consequence."

"Well who did Ira spend time with?"

"He went to minyan every morning and almost every night. He might have spoken to some of the men there. And he made sure to see Hava and Rebecca at least a couple times a month."

"Was Hava close to her grandfather?"

"In some sense, I suppose. My granddaughter is a good woman, but she has more passion than even a young person should. I think if my generation had her kind of faith when we were young, God in his heaven would have seen it and spared us the Nazis."

"Did your husband see things the same way?"

"Ira liked things to be a certain distance. He loved our girls and Hava in his way, but even they could never quite penetrate his defenses. You have to understand, in the ghettos, in the camps, we were doomed. Everyone around us was doomed. Anybody you got closed to could vanish the next day, to the camps, to the gas chambers, to... It is so difficult to forget that. It's easy to let things and people just slide away without ever touching you."

"So you're saying he didn't get along with your granddaughter?"

"I'm saying she wanted things from him he didn't know how to give. But if you're insinuating something detective, you can stop. My granddaughter honors him for what he went through; she would have no cause to kill him. And if you think that she would mutilate any Jew in that way, you've never heard her speak," Tatya's reedy voice picked up strength as she spoke, but Lewis had caught the most important thing.

"In what way, ma'am?" he asked quietly.

"A swastika carved on a survivor, is-- is an atrocity. How can you not know that?"

"Mrs. Scholtzman, we didn't release any information about a swastika. How did you know that?" He watched her careful as she shook her head and covered her mouth with her hands.

"What? No, you must have said something, I--"

"I didn't."

"Then, I must have... somehow. Listen to me, Hava would have never done such a thing. It doesn't matter anyway, she was with me last night, she'd brought us groceries."

"Why don't I ask her that myself?"

"You can't."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but that's my job."

"She's gone up to Munsie to help her Aunt Rachel deal with Ira's death. My Rachel was always such an emotional girl." Tatya smiled pleasantly, while Lewis manfully resisted the urge to smack her one.  
"Hey, hey, hey, Mikey!" Meldrick called cheerfully as his partner shuffled into the squad room. Mike looked as though he'd taken too many long gulps of something bitter. "Any luck?"

"Luck? What's that again? Jesus, Meldrick, those guys are fucking brain dead and they've all got sheets the length of my arm. If it had been one of them, we'd have found their prints all over the scene."

"That's okay." Lewis grinned widely.

"How's that-- you got something don't you? What do you have?"

"Read this." Lewis handed his interview notes to Kellerman. Mike thumbed through them, skimming down the irrelevant things, before he hit it. His eyes widened.

"The granddaughter?"

"That's right. I checked, her mother has a nine millimeter registered in her name."

"Did you find the gun?"

"Not yet, it ain't in the house. She maybe got rid of it."

"You bringing her in?"

"She went to see her Aunt in New York. The locals are gonna bring her in for me. Her grandma gave her the heads up if you believe that."

"Her grandmother? Imagine being with someone that much. Being married all those years and then--Boom! He's dead. You think she'd miss him more."

"I dunno."

"Anyway. I guess we're almost done here."

"Maybe. If we don't get a confession on this one, she can wiggle her way out of it in court."

"We'll get a confession."

"Yeah."

"Imagine being married that long... I still miss Annie and we didn't even make it two years. And I know she's still out there, doing okay. Hell, doing better than me! But..."

"Yeah, I can understand that. I guess I got to used to havin Barbara around. And I still keep expecting to see Crosetti's big ole head in the squadroom."

"I know." Mike smiled softly.

"How do you know?" Lewis demanded, trying to think of when he might have let something of that nature slip.

"You told me that. You know, that night, on my boat." That night could only ever have one meaning for the two of them.

"I hardly even remember what was coming out of my mouth then."

"I do. I remember every word."

"Oh," Lewis muttered uncomfortably. "We done here. I doubt the New York boys will get her down here before tomorrow. Maybe we could head over to the Waterfront and get a drink or something?" He peered at Mike, rather nervously. Kellerman stared at him and then nodded.

"Let's go." Kellerman stood up without even questioning the change in topic. Even he could learn when to just let it go.

A few hours and more than a few drinks later, Lewis wished he'd never asked.  
"I mean murdered by his own granddaughter! How sick is that?" Kellerman demanded. "What the hell is wrong with people?"

"When it's your time, it's your time. That's just how it is. Could be your wife, your granddaughter, a piano falling on your head. Could be you kill yourself."

"Well the guy didn't just kill himself!"

"Mike, you're drunk." Lewis sighed. Kellerman blinked up at him and then shook his head slowly.

"I'm okay. I think I'm ready to go home, though." Kellerman stood up clumsily, using the bar for leverage.

"No, you're not okay. Home's a good idea, but you better let me have your keys." Lewis held out his hand for them. Kellerman looked at him as though he'd been monumentally insulted.

"Those are my keys!"

"I know they are, I'll give em back when you're sober."

"All you people are so alike. Just wanna take my damn keys. I'm not even that drunk."

"Tell me that one again when you can walk in a straight line."

"Fine. You want them? Here you are." Kellerman dug into his pocket, through a bunch of papers and pulled out a key ring, which he practically flung in Lewis' face. Lewis managed to catch them.

"Thank you. I'll call you a cab or something."

"I can't afford a cab. I'm just gonna walk. Not that far."

"You can't barely walk either. You gonna fall into the water or something."

"Your partner just falling in the water." Mike giggled. "Sounds familiar, huh?"

"Don't even go there, Mikey. You can try and get me mad all you want, I still ain't letting you walk home the way you are."

"Well, what do you want me to do, sleep on the bar?"

"I'll take you home," Lewis offered. Mike shook his head.

"Letting you drive me anyplace really would kill me. Pass."

"Look, forget driving. I'll walk you home if you like."

"Wow, that's generous. Should I be grateful?"

"Mikey," Meldrick said tiredly.

"Should I maybe kiss your feet and thank you for the crumbs. At least I'm worth the crumbs now! I guess I should be grateful."

"Look, I'll pay for your cab."

"You can't afford one either, unless you been taking a little extra in on the side. Is that it, Meldrick, a little bit of squeezing for cash?" Mike sneered belligerently. Lewis stared blankly at him before anger overcame his grip on calm.

"Will you just shut the hell up and let me take you home?" he screamed, ignoring the uncomfortable stares of the Waterfront patrons. Kellerman flinched and the sneer faded from his face, to be replaced by confusion.

"Okay," he suddenly agreed, with surprising meekness. Meldrick nodded firmly, hooked an arm around his partner's shoulder, and steadily guided him out the door and in the direction of the boat. It wasn't far, but Mike's wild stumbling and weaving made the task an intricate one.

When they finally got to the dock Mike fumbled with his keys so badly that Meldrick had to open the door for him. "Jeez, Mikey. What do you do when you this drunk an on your own?"

"Sleep on the deck." Mike shrugged. "Beats sitting around with a gun in my mouth anyway."

"Gun?"

"I do that. Sit there and watch the gun and the clock and try to fall asleep. But when I'm buzzed enough s'easy. S'nice out here anyway, to sleep. Stars. Cold sometimes, but nice." He grinned toothily.

"You ain't gonna do that tonight." Lewis tried to suppress his real horror.

"Nope," Mike agreed happily. "You're here to help. Anyway, have to work the case tomorrow. Should really sleep."

"Yeah, case." Lewis expression seemed to penetrate Kellerman's drunken haze and he examined his partner with more careful precision.

"Meldrick, are you-- you okay? This case is really sucky and all. It bugging you?"

"For God's sake, Mikey, forget about the damn case!"

"Well, are you sure? Because if there's something I can do to help, you know I'm here for you, right?"

Lewis stared at him incredulously. "I'm fine, Kellerman. Don't worry about me."

"You sure? I mean it, if I can do anything to help..."

"You wanna help me? Jesus, Mikey, you just told me you sit here every night on this boat with a gun in your mouth and you wanna help me?"

"Not every night," Mike said quietly.

"Every night, any night, whatever. What the hell is the matter with you, man? How do you do that? Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Let people just rip you open like this."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, man."

"Why do you keep trying when you know you just gonna get bit again?"

"I dunno. I think, I mean I know everybody needs other people. You can't just turn that off, I guess. If you do that, what good are you?"

"Damn, you sound like... If you start wailing about Lincoln next I'm gonna hit you." Lewis frowned and shook his head.

"Who? Lincoln? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's not important. Anyway, I gotta be getting home. Early day tomorrow."

"Don't you have time for a beer?" Mike asked hopefully. He moved over to the cooler himself and pulled one out. With the careful application of studied precision, he finally succeeded in popping the lid.

"No, I don't. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, you really had enough of that for one night."

"If I can still pop the lid I haven't had enough yet. You sure you don't want to stay for a while?"

"No, I really can't."

"Why, Barbara waiting for you?"

"More likely the process server with the divorce papers." Lewis sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. Kellerman patted him on the back sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, man."

"Don't be, it was just a matter of time."

"I'm still sorry."

Lewis stared into sincere blue eyes and found he had to look away. "Mikey?"

"Yeah?"

"You gonna be okay here alone?"

"I've been here alone for a while now, Meldrick. I'm used to it."

"I--" he tried to force the words that were caught in his throat, but they choked him. "I gotta be going. See you tomorrow."

"'Til tomorrow, partner." Kellerman saluted him playfully with his beer. Lewis smiled faintly and walked down the pier toward the Waterfront and his car, still feeling like the worst kind of coward in the world.  
Hava Greer took her seat across from Lewis in the box with a steady poise that seemed to advertise that she knew exactly what she was doing. That would have to be chisled away if she was going to be made to talk.

"What's this all about, Detectives? What's going on?"

"Why did you leave town, Ms. Greer?"

"I didn't know I had to stay."

"You missed your grandfather's funeral."

"We don't say Yitzkor for a grandparent. My presence wasn't required."

"All the same, it looks a little strange, you missing his funeral."

"I don't understand, are you accusing me of something?"

"Where's your mother's gun, Ms. Greer?"

"How should I know? I can't even shoot a gun."

"So then who shot your grandfather?"

"What? Are you seriously... what possible reason would I have to kill him?"

"Why don't you tell me that?"

"You're out of your mind! I brought my grandmother groceries that morning, even if I were capable of such a thing, I couldn't have done it!"

"You didn't get along with him did you? Neighbors heard you fighting with him a few nights before the murder."

"That has nothing to do with anything."

"Why did you fight with him?"

"I found information that-- Look, it's none of your business."

"A dead body makes everything our business."

"I found out that, that-- My grandmother told me the truth about him," her voice actually trembled. "He was one of those in charge of liquidating the Warsaw ghetto."

"What?" Lewis demanded. Mike leaned back against the wall, reveling in the sudden gift. Motive from the supect's own mouth. A motive would be the thing that could make this case fly.

"My grandfather was a collaborator," she said bitterly, ignoring the shock of the detectives. "That's how he kept out of the camps until nearly the end of the war, that's how he saved my grandmother's life."

"So that's why you killed him?"

"I didn't kill him."

"He worked with the Nazis. That made you angry. I understand that. You got so angry you had to make him pay for betraying your people like that. Betraying your trust," Kellerman leaned toward her, almost whispering the words in her ear. She pulled away, shying from actual contact.

"You have to understand. He was a collaborator. He had them in his soul."

"Them?" Meldrick pursed his lips and hoped to hell this wasn't the beginning of an attempt to make an insanity defense. Hava shook her head.

"You know what I mean, or you would if you weren't goyishe. Them. The spirit of Amalak, of hatred. He collaborated with the Nazis against his own people. He was--"

"You being a little hard on an ole man, don't you think? Come on, Hava, everybody does what they gots to, everybody wants to survive."

"What good is surviving if everything that makes you human is dead? My grandfather was a walking dead man, Detective Lewis."

"He went through hell to come out alive," he prompted carefully.

"How the do you know what hell looks like? You grew up here, in this country. You never suffered."

"Maybe." He smiled bitterly. "Maybe I don't have a clue. But neither do you, Hava Greer. Or weren't you born and raised in the suburbs of Bawlmer? But he knew. He survived that and you killed him."

"Don't you understand, he didn't survive! He wasn't a he, he was an it. A thing who couldn't hold any kind of relationship. He didn't love my grandmother, my mother or me. If he ever knew how, he lost that knowledge. Bubby Tatya only stayed with him because she's almost as dead inside as he was."

"Are you gonna kill her too?"

"Of course not! She's my Bubby, my grandmother!"

"But you killed your grandfather? She knew, she went along with him for all those years, why not kill her too?" Lewis demanded. Hava stared at him blankly.

"I used to think it was okay. I used to think he was a martyr, a breathing reminder of what my people went through. But he wasn't a martyr, he was a traitor."

"So you killed him?"

"He was already dead."

"And you just finished him off, right? You just put the poor walking dead man right out of his misery with a nine millimeter."

"You said it was one shot and it was over. He didn't feel it. When they killed my Great Aunt the Nazis didn't want to waste a bullet. They made her dig her own grave and then they buried her in it. She was still alive and they buried her. I'm not like that."

"You shot Ira Scholtzman through the heart with a nine millimeter?"

"I was doing the right thing."

"Why?"

"He was supposed to be a martyr, not a traitor. This way he was a martyr. This way he was what he should have been."

"Yeah, tell it to a jury," Mike said quietly, turning off the tape recorder and ending the interview. As he was about to stand up, the door to the box swung open. A uniformed police officer stared at the two detectives rather sheepishly.

"I think you guys better take a look at something," he muttered.

"In a minute, we're almost done here," Lewis said.

"That's why you need to see this." Lewis and Kellerman exchanged glances, sparing a look for the suddenly too calm face of Hava.

"What is it?" Kellerman asked.

"The girl didn't do it. It was the grandmother."

"What?" Lewis demanded.

"It was the grandmother. We've got a signed confession and the murder weapon. Latent's checking the prints now, but it's a pretty good bet the girl never touched the weapon. The note said she hated guns."

"Note?"

"Suicide note. Tatyana Scholtzman ate her gun about an hour ago. She called 911 before she did it. I got to you as soon as I found out."

"You're kidding," Lewis hissed.

"I'm sorry, detective. There's nothing we can do about it."

"You have that note?" Kellerman asked quietly.

"Latent's dusting it for prints. I've got a copy." He handed the paper to Mike, who scanned its contents briefly before passing it on to Lewis. When Lewis looked up at Mike, who gestured to the box with his chin.

"You want me to talk to her?" he offered.

Lewis shook his head. "No. No, I'll do it."

"Fair enough." Mike followed the officer to take care of the paper work, leaving his partner staring at the box and its resident. A straight, slim girl, not quite of drinking age, who didn't cry. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Her dark eyes were wide with tension; her knuckles clenched and white. She looked almost trapped as she stared at him.

"Ms. Greer, there's been a mistake."

"Where is my grandmother?" she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her. If he'd had any doubts before, now he knew. She'd known all along, she'd been willing to go down for it, but she'd known everything.

"She committed suicide about an hour ago, Ma'am. I'm sorry," he said as kindly as he could. "She signed a confession and left us the murder weapon. A few tests and we'll have you cleared of this whole mess."

"Suicide? Suicide is a sin."

"So is murder, Ms. Greer. I read her note, I know what happened." She nodded convulsively.

"She felt so guilty, living with him. She felt like a traitor for living at all when so many died. They were both dead inside, I think. It was my fault." She stared up at him, as if to gauge his reaction to her statement.

"How was that?" he said, as impartially as he could.

"She told me the truth. About what he did, about what she did. I got so angry, so angry. I told them both I wouldn't see them again. That I'd tell everyone what they really were. It's my fault." She shook her head, as if trying to shake something out of it.

"You where going to let yourself go down for murder to protect her," he offered sympathetically.

"She was my Bubby. I honored her. If only I hadn't-- if only I'd been a little warmer, more forgiving. I never meant for anyone to die."

"I am sorry."

"Did you really think I would have done it?" she asked softly.

"I thought so, yeah. Would you have, if she hadn't done it first?"

"I don't even know how to shoot a gun. I hate guns. And to kill another Jew..." She shook her head. "No."

"I'm sorry. In my line of work it's my job to think the worst of people. But you would have gone to jail for her?"

"For my Bubby? Yes. She's a good woman, she really was. The guilt, the things I said to her. I--She suffered so much. My generation owes them so much just for surviving. If I could take it back..."

"Did you love your grandfather?" What he wanted to ask was how she could cover for his killer if she loved him too, but the answer was too painfully obvious.

"I told you, I honored him, both of them. Is that important?"

"Not for the case. I jus' need to know." He shrugged and looked away.

"It's possible to care for someone who doesn't know how to care back for a little while. Not forever, not anymore. That's unhealthy."

"Yeah. You're right." They sat together in silence for a little while before he stood up. "I can get someone to drive you home."

"That's okay. I'll get a cab."

"Maybe... if you need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call," he made the offer without quite knowing why.

She shook her head and rather gently lay her hands on his. "That wouldn't be a good idea, Detective. People might talk."

"Because I'm black? I'm not asking you out, or anything." His face turned warm at the last words, and he was glad his skin didn't show blush easily.

"Not yet." She almost smiled. He wondered when she had become the one doing the comforting. "But if you ever consider converting, don't hesitate to try."

They shook hands as if they were old friends or comrades; she did smiled at him once before she left, a real smile that brightened her face to something that could have been beauty. That was beauty.  
Lewis wandered out into the squad room, waiting for Mikey to come back. After tossing the football up and down into the air got boring, his gaze focused on Munch, who was busily pretending to be busy.

"Hey, Munchkin, can I ask you something?"

"What is it, Lewis?"

"Do you know what Amalak means?" he asked hopefully. Munch's brow furrowed in thought.

"It means a lot of things, none of them friendly. Concrete or philosophical sense?"

"Just tell me what it means!"

"Okay, okay, don't get so damn excited. Mostly it's a biblical thing. It's the name of a tribe in the desert that used to attack without warning and kill off the weakest. Supposedly they were almost totally wiped out, but the Israelites stopped just short of genocide. For which act of mercy they were rewarded by the remnants of Amalak popping up and making life miserable every once in a while."

"What do you mean?"

"If you believe it, people like Hitler are Amalak." Munch shrugged. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"That all it means? What about in the philosophical sense?"

Munch's expression turned intense and focused. His gaze almost seemed to spear through Lewis. "It means hate, Meldrick. Hate without reason, conscience or pause. Hate that's so devouring it eats people alive and makes them commit unimaginable horrors. It's something so poisonous; the only way to get rid of it and be sure it's gone is to destroy it utterly, completely and without mercy. That what you wanted to know?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Lewis rocked back on his chair. Munch grinned and nodded, as if he'd never been anything but lighthearted on the subject.

"Sure. Anytime."  
As if by prearrangment Lewis and Kellerman found themselves wandering to the Waterfront after work, and then back to the boat. They didn't talk about anything in particular. Paper work, sports, the weather. They might have found some kind of tentative pleasure in each other's company, but nothing that made what Lewis said any less of a bombshell.

"Mike. I-- I'm gonna need a partner."

"They're gonna get us a new transfer in, Lewis. You'll have some warm bodies to chose from."

"I don't want-- I mean, it ain't that. I know I didn't do right by you. Said some things I can't just take back, but I do wanna make things right again."

"Do you? Do you really?"

"This ain't easy for me, Mikey."

"What ain't?"

"Apologizin."

"Is that what you're doing?" Mike snorted incredulously. Meldrick supressed the urge to just walk out now, while he still could.

"You enjoying this, ain't you?"

"You expect me to answer that?"

"I'm sorry, Mike. I'm sorry about... everything."

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I accept your apology. Forget about it."

"So will you partner with me again?"

"You have to tell me why. You have to explain why you want to partner with me, because I have to understand." A part of Mike couldn't believe he was questioning this. All he'd wanted was to work with Meldrick again since they rotated back in to homicide, but now he had to know.

"I dunno what you want me to say."

"I'm here for you, Meldrick, if you need me, but you-- I can't go through this again just on this. You got to give me something. Something to stand on, because I don't feel like I got much there right now."

"I-- I miss working with you. I-- care what happens to you. I care about--" Lewis frowned trying to think of something to say until Kellerman took pity on his floundering.

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"So you saying yes?"

"Yeah, I'm saying yes. I'm the idiot who lets himself get ripped open, remember?"

"Thank you." Lewis shook Kellerman's offer hand to seal the bargain. He stared into Mike's blue eyes before releasing him. "We're going to have to talk things over."

"Yeah," Mike whispered. "But not tonight, right?"

"Right. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

"I'll live." Mike smiled, but it was a painful smile.

"But will you be okay?"

"No." Mike looked up at Meldrick, watching his face carefully. "I won't be okay."

"I guess I figured as much. You got yourself a really comfortable couch here, Mikey," Meldrick whispered, forcing himself to keep meeting his partner's eyes.

"It's not too bad, best I could do on my salary. I'll find you some blankets or something," Mike offered quietly. Maybe a little bit of the hurt drained from his face, Lewis couldn't be sure.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me, Mikey. Partner."

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young man came back from war hoping to find his family. He wandered through the streets of the village of his birth, hoping to see at least one of them, his parents, his brother, and his sister, to hear any news of them. He begged the people for any word at all, but most of them were strangers to him. The original villagers had scattered or died. Finally, a sympathetic man, who had worked as a cook for the enemy, told him the story of his family, his beautiful sister and their fate.

The young man was mesmerized with horror, but like many of his people he did the only thing he could do, and lived. He went to university and met a young woman who had survived the war by suffering through the hardships in the East. He married and had children and he lived and he remembered.


	2. No Fundemental Excuse

Lewis and Kellerman were standing beside a crib with a tiny, rapidly cooling body in it while the sun rose over Baltimore. The mother was a plump, thick-featured girl of no more than twenty with the faintest hint of the islands in her wail.

"I don't understand! I fed her, I change her diapers, I come when she cry... what happened, I don't understand?"

Lewis shrugged, careful not looking at the infant or its mother. "Sometimes things happen. Ain't nothing no one can do about it."

"But I don't understand!" The wail thickened as tears began to fall down her reddened face. Lewis turned away uncomfortably. Kellerman touched her gently on the shoulder, silent comfort for the unthinkable.

"I am so sorry," he told her quietly and sincerely. She took one look into clear blue eyes that seemed to grieve with her before collapsing against his shoulder; her heavy body racked with futile sobs. She clung to him while the ME took the body and only when it was gone and she had nothing left but and empty cradle and a lifetime of blame did she release him to the paperwork that went with the crib death.

By the time an actual homicide got called in around mid afternoon the paper work was all filed and awaiting only the ME's ruling that the death of little Isabel Monroe was in fact caused by SIDS and not something more sinister.  
The body seemed to have shrunk in on itself, not that an undernourished teenager normally got that big to begin with.

Kellerman stared at blankly for nearly a minute with Lewis reluctant to pull him out of the haze. Then he shrugged suddenly and seemed to shake it off. "So who was first on the scene?"

"I was, Kellerman." A tall, dark haired young woman stepped forward.

Lewis swallowed heavily at the sight of her. "Officer Riley."

"Detective Lewis," she acknowledged, without looking at him.

"Susie--"

"Not now, Lewis," she said quietly.

"So what do we have here, Riley?" Kellerman asked, blatantly ignoring any subtle or not so subtle interplay between the lady in blue and his partner.

"Our boy here was capped twice in the back. I'm no ME, but I'd say that could be the cause of death."

"That's funny. ID?"

"None on her. But we caught a friendly citizen who wants to do his civic duty hanging around the corpse. His name is Aaron, he called it in," Riley gestured to a nervous looking kid in old jeans and a filthy tee shirt, who looked as though he'd rather be just about anywhere else. "He tells us that the kid's name was Jamie. She was a street kid mostly, before she got into turning tricks. Aaron thinks she's a runaway." Kellerman nodded and scribbled it down in his pad.

"Aaron was here when you showed up?"

"Yeah. He says he saw Jamie go into the alley with a john and then heard gunshots. Nobody else saw a damn thing."

"Course they didn't. Sometimes I think this whole damn neighborhood ought to be banging on the eye doctor's door," Kellerman muttered darkly.

Riley shrugged. "I've heard worse plans."

"Well, you wanna help us canvas for the non-existent witnesses to the crime who saw the whole thing from their bedroom windows?" Mike pointed up to the surrounding row houses.

"Anything for you, Kellerman. With that riding next to you, you need all the help you can get." She waved a hand at Lewis and sauntered off toward the nearest row house.

As soon as she was out of sight Mike raised an eyebrow at his partner. "Damn. You and she must have really had something going."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Lewis muttered.

"Riley?" Mike whispered in mock syrupy tones, "Oh, Riley!"

"Shut the fuck up, Mikey!" Lewis spat, ignoring his partner in favor of the corpse lying face down in the dirt.

"You went out with her, didn't you?"

"You don't have the first clue what you talking about, man."

"Come on. I'm your partner, you can tell me about it," Mike wheedled. The words almost made Lewis flinch but he covered it well.

"Do you want me to come over there and hit you, man? You forgetting I'm still a married man."

"Separated. And you and Stivers seemed to get around that just fine two years ago."

"Just cause you a dog, Mikey, don't mean I got no respect for the fairer sex."

"Yeah? Since when?" Mike snickered. Meldrick just shook his head.

"It ain't no use talking to you at all is it?" Lewis sighed. Mike grinned at him innocently. Lewis felt a moment's relief, deciding the whole conversation was nothing more than Mike's old teasing. He grinned back, shaking his head. "Come on, Mikey, we got ourselves a murder to solve."

They both turned back to the kid the uniform was hanging onto. No more than fifteen, ragged hair and thin frame trembling under his dirty clothes. "Did Jamie have any enemies?" Mike asked, not unkindly.

"Nah, she didn't do nothing to nobody. She was cool, man. Not into hard drugs or any of that shit. Marty wouldn't let her."

"Marty?"

"Jones Marty. Marty was Jamie's man, you know?"

"Her pimp?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Did Marty and Jamie get along?"

"They did okay. I dunno."

"Could you tell us exactly what happened to Jamie? Any detail could help."

The boy rocked back on his heels, considering. He glanced from the corpse to the detectives and finally shrugged. "She went into the alley with a john, like I said. I heard shots. She and I we spent some time together, you know?" He shrunk into himself, a little self-consciously. "I ran in to see what happened. She was on the ground bleeding... there was a man... he was running."

"The john?"

"I guess. I only saw his back, ya know? He had on a black leather jacket. Expensive. That one!" The kid pointed excitedly to a CSU officer walking toward the detectives carrying a black leather jacket.

The man came up to Mike. "We found this in a Dumpster about ten feet down. Do you think it's important?"

Lewis looked at the jacket blankly for a second, before bursting into a wide grin. "Smell it. What does this say to you?" Mike shrugged and sniffed at the jacket. His eyes widened.

"New leather. This thing's brand new."

"Quality shit too. Can't be too many stores in town that carry something like this."

Mike inspected the jacket and then smiled delightedly. "Only one store. Take a look, this thing still has the tag on it."

"Damn. Today is our lucky day after all."

"Can I go now?" Aaron, momentarily forgotten, tugged on Mike's sleeve.

"Anything else you can think of? Anything at all?"

The kid shrugged. "I'd really like to go. Can I?"

Mike sighed. "Sure. If you think of anything else, give us a call."

"Yeah, man. I'll do that." The kid grinned in relief, which quickly dissipated when the uniform started asking him his name and home address. Lewis and Kellerman were already walking away.

" Do you wanna say goodbye to your girlfriend before we go?" Mike asked cheerfully.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Who, me?" Mike grinned. Lewis gave him a friendly whack, which he ducked easily. They raced each other to the driver's seat. Kellerman won, but it didn't do him any good since Lewis had the keys and wasn't giving them up.  
The girl behind the counter nodded at the jacket. "Yup. Sold it this two days ago. Mid life crisis."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"Some balding guy in a suit with a wedding band comes in and buys a thousand bucks worth of leather, I call that like I see it, man."

"Are you sure it was this jacket?"

"Yeah, had to be. Look," She lifted up a chain with a deep scratch in it. "The guy complained about the scratch for almost half an hour. I ended up giving him ten percent off just to get rid of the asshole."

"You don't happen to know who the guy was, do you?"

"Well, he paid with his visa. If I give you the receipt would you leave? I got customers to look after, ya know."

"Sure, no problem, lady," Mike dimpled at her. She looked him up and down and smiled back, her bad mood suddenly evaporating.

"Hey, you can stay. Got a discount for cops. Especially if they're willing to use those handcuffs." Mike's expression didn't change under her frank gaze, but the shop was too dim to tell if he was blushing.

"That's quite a offer, but I'm on the clock."

"Another time? My name's Andrea. I'm off after midnight."

"You bet, Andrea." He flashed another grin at her and let Lewis tug him out of the store. Andrea waved after him before turning back to a guy with more fluorescent colors in his hair than you could find on the Vegas strip.

"You do know this is a job, not your own personal dating pool?" Lewis asked cheerfully when they were safely back in the Caviler.

"And you're just jealous because the lady preferred me."

"The lady had more metal in her ears then it takes to build a glock. And then there was her nose. Do people really need more holes in their nose than they got?"

Kellerman just laughed at him.  
The credit card led them straight to an address in Federal Hill. The knock on the door was answered by a middle-aged woman in perfectly tailored slacks. She smiled at them politely.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Mrs. Cranston?"

"Yes, that's right. Who--"

"I'm Detective Kellerman and this is Detective Lewis. We're with the Baltimore City Police department. Is your husband in?"

"Ralph's upstairs."

"Well could you get him, ma'am?"

"Why? Is something wrong?" she asked nervously.

"He's a possible witness to a crime and we'd like to speak with him."

She nodded and called her husband downstairs. Ralph Cranston was as described. A middle aged, balding man with the vague aura of terror that clings to a person who has realized he isn't getting any younger.

"What can I do for you gentleman?"

"Can you tell us where you were this morning, around three?"

"I was... why here in bed. Where should I be at that hour?"

"That's interesting, sir. We found your jacket in a Dumpster less than twenty feet from the scene. A witness saw someone wearing it fleeing."

"Jacket? I bought a leather jacket yesterday morning, but it was stolen. I paid nearly a grand for the thing, so you can imagine I wasn't happy. Are you telling me someone committed a crime wearing that?"

Lewis and Kellerman exchanged glances. "Would you mind coming to the station with us Mr. Cranston? Getting a few fingerprints would clear this whole mess right up."

"I certainly do mind. My wife and I have plans."

"Mr. Cranston..."

"I think you gentlemen should speak to my attorney. You know where the door is. Good day."

"We have a witness, Mr. Cranston. Even if you didn't do a thing getting caught with a male prostitute ought to really help your reputation with your golf buddies."

The man swallowed abruptly and glanced back into the house after his wife. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like my partner here was saying, a couple of prints would show you weren't anywhere near the scene."

"You honestly think I killed that whore?"

"Killed? Who said anything about anybody killing or getting killed?"

"I-- you--" Cranston turned an impossible shade of red. "It isn't what you think, I swear!"

"Why don't you come down town with us, sir?" Lewis asked gently. "You can tell us all about it."

Kellerman slid the Miranda waiver safely away and treated his subject to a long eye fuck, enjoying the man's fidgeting.

"So you're admitting you were there, Mr. Cranston?" he asked after the tension had reached a breaking point.

"I was there." He stared down at his feet. "I wanted something different..."

"Different?" Lewis asked, sounding mildly curious. "I guess shooting a teenage girl after she blows you is kinda different."

"What? No, I said I didn't shoot her!"

"There's a gun registered in your name. We're running tests on the bullets recovered from the scene. Wanna bet they match?"

"No, that's wrong. I didn't--"

Kellerman intervened, his voice suddenly soothing. "We understand that Mr. Cranston. Why don't you tell what happened? But remember, if you lie to us there's nothing we can do for you."

Cranston cracked his knuckles nervously and stared from Lewis to Kellerman. "He'll kill me if I tell you. He had-- that man--" he shivered.

"We can protect you, sir. If there's something we need to know you should tell us now. You don't want this girl's murder landing on you," Mike said.

"Rich white man like you, up at Jesseup or Hagerstown. That would be something to see." Lewis laughed harshly.

"The girl, she um, she called him Marty." Kellerman raised an eyebrow at Lewis but Cranston missed the silent exchange. "He screamed that she'd um, been stealing... or using or I don't remember. And she said, she said, 'Jeez, Marty, can't you see I'm with a customer?'. And his eyes-- he shot her. It was so loud. He shot her and then he looked at me and I thought I was dead too."

"Why ain't you dead? Why did this big, bad pimp let you live?"

"I don't know. He looked at me and at her. He walked away. And I ran."

"You didn't report this to the police? You just ran away?" Kellerman asked in mock disappointment.

"I ran. My wife, she..."

"I'm sure she is. We're gonna want you to look at some pictures and pick out the man who shot Jamie. Could you do that for us?"

"Jamie? Was that her name?" Cranston muttered.  
After Cranston identified him, they had an APB but out for one Emanuel Martins, AKA Jones Marty. But the man had gone to ground and after a few hours with no sign of him the two detectives ended a twelve-hour shift and wandered over to the haven of cool air and watery beer that was the Waterfront.

They had settled into a routine of knocking back a few after work like they had in the old days. Before Mahoney. Lewis pretended that Kellerman wasn't drinking that much more than he had back then and in return Kellerman waited until Lewis knocked off for the night to really go on a bender. It was an amazingly useful blindness. And from the way Kellerman grew progressively less hungover come mornings the clever fiction was becoming truer as the weeks passed. Either that or Mike had finally learned to hold his liquor.

Just as Lewis was about to head home to his newly empty apartment, Kellerman tugged a cigarette out of his pocket. As far as Lewis knew, he hadn't smoked one since Bayliss' prone body had been rushed into an ambulance. Mike stared at it blankly, as if he wasn't really sure what it was. Then he shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in, lit it, and stuck it between his lips.

Lewis deliberately walked passed him on his way out. He stopped and pulled the cigarette out of Kellerman's mouth before his partner had a moment to react.

"Hey!" Mike cried out. "What the hell was that for?"

"These damn things are getting on my nerves, that's what it for. You wanna give me lung cancer with all your second hand smoke, Mikey?"

"Because you ain't gonna get it from this damn bar, huh? You don't just knock a damn cigarette out of somebody's mouth for God's sakes! What the fuck is wrong with you, Lewis?"

"Nothing wrong with me. Anyway, you're quitting those things, remember? They gonna kill you," Lewis said quietly.

"If I wanna kill me, that's my business."

"No it isn't. It's everybody who cares about you's business, too. Don't you forget it." Lewis tossed the cigarette onto an ashtray and deliberately ground it into oblivion, not taking his eyes off his partner's. Mike's eyes burned with an angry blue fire but he didn't move to intervene.

"I haven't forgotten just how much you care, man. Not for one second," he spat.

"Mikey--"

"Meldrick, just because you'd rather work with me than Falsone doesn't make us best friends again. Hell, we were never best friends."

"Weren't we?" Lewis asked quietly.

"No. There's more to it than what we got and if you don't know that, maybe you fucking well should," Mike cried, jumping to his feet.

"That's really deep. Thank you, Detective Philosopher."

Kellerman leaned up into his partner's face, every muscle speaking of barely restrained fury. "What, you gotta make fun of me now? I hate to break it to you, Meldrick, but you ain't my mother, and you sure as hell ain't my fucking older brother."

Lewis swallowed and looked away. "I never said--"

"You never said what? What the fuck did you say, man, what did you ever say?"

"What the hell are you so mad at me for? You the one who wanted to quit smoking."

"Fuck you, Lewis."

"Listen to me, I just want to know you're going to be okay."

Mike began to spit out a retort, but was stopped by the pained look on his partner's face. "Well relax. I'm fine."

"I wanna believe that," Lewis whispered. Mike rocked back on his heels and then sat back down.

"Well, how about this, I'm as fine as anyone with blood on his hands gets."

"You ain't the only one with blood there, Mikey."

"I pulled the trigger. That's enough for Stivers. It used to be enough for you."

"If you believe that, you're an idiot."

"So now I'm an idiot. Thanks, Lewis, now stop sugarcoating and tell me what you really think of me."

"This ain't funny."

"That's why you don't see me laughing."

"I thought... I thought we'd been through this shit already. You said you weren't mad about Mahoney."

"I'm not mad about that. Don't touch my fucking cigarettes."

"Fine. Go out and kill yourself. See if I fucking care."

"I thought I wasn't mad, okay. But you were right before, about this partnership. This has to be about the job. The other stuff might work for Bayliss and Pembleton, but that ain't what we're about."

"You're wrong."

"You know what you are? You're a lazy son of a bitch, Lewis."

"Mike--"

"You know what else? I don't have time for this." Kellerman nodded to himself.

"Why, you actually got somewhere to go?" Lewis smirked.

"As a matter of fact, yeah. I got a date."

"Them inflatable women just not doing it for you anymore?"

"Very funny."

"Who is this girl? You really going out with that crazy tattooed leather girl?"

"Her name's Andrea. She says fun is her god." Mike's expression softened into real amusement.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Don't try taking her to a museum or nothin cause there ain't no way she's getting past the metal detectors," Lewis muttered, relaxing.

"Museum? Why the fuck would I take a date to a museum?" Kellerman sneered.

"You too much of a red blooded American boy for that kinda thing?"

"Hell yeah. Besides, Andrea only likes body art."

Lewis stared at him blankly and then said the only thing he could think of, "Get the fuck out of here, Mikey."  
Mike showed up late the next morning, with bruises on his wrists and a huge, shit eating grin on his face.

"Looks like Andrea showed you a good time, eh?" Lewis tossed the football to Mike, who caught it easily.

"You better believe she did. That is some woman."

"Yeah. Looks like she is that. You wanna know what you missed, coming in late, partner?"

"Was it is good as what I got?"

"Better. I just about went and solved your case for you, partner. The boys in blue picked up our friend Marty."

"No shit!? Why the fuck didn't you beep me?"

"I didn't want to interrupt your recreational activities. But it gets better. He admitted he was on the scene."

"What?"

"He told the arresting officer he was on the scene and that Jaime's john went nuts and shot her. He says she was dead before he could do a damn thing for her."

Mike smirked. "So who do we believe, my friend, the pimp or the tax lawyer?"

The two detectives sauntered into the box in unison. When left alone, Jones Marty had lain his head on the table and fallen promptly asleep. Kellerman rubbed his hands together gleefully.

He strode over until he was right by the suspect's ears. "Hey, Marty, wake up!" he yelled. Stifling the pure amusement he got when the yo nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What the fuck you gotta do that for?" Marty demanded, rubbing at his aching ear.

"You have any idea how much trouble you're in? You murdered a teenage girl, you sick fuck."

"I didn't. I told the other guy, didn't he tell you? I told him that john a her's done her. I would never have hurt that girl."

"But you let her peddle her ass on a street corner to keep you in rent money, huh? Yeah, you're a real gentleman, Marty."

"I was good to her. Kept her away from drugs and shit. I ain't never hurt her."

Kellerman nodded. "Real good. Do you own a gun, Marty?"

The man shrugged. "Gotta have protection."

"And where is that gun now?"

"Someone borrowed it, and they ain't returned it yet."

"They ain't returned it yet?" Kellerman laughed. "They ain't returned it? I'm supposed to belive this you lying sack of shit?"

"It's the truth!" Marty wailed.

"Sure might be, man," Lewis shifted in his seat. "But you see, that john, he's a tax lawyer. A more or less upstanding citizen. And if we're gonna take your word over his, well, you gotta give us something to go on."

"I ain't never hurt that girl! I ain't never beat her or nothing!" Marty almost jumped up, visbly upset, but Kellerman shoved him in his seat.

"Sit down, you murdering piece of crap," he said, matter of factly.

"Did she steal from you, Marty? Is that what it is? You so good to her and then she was an ungrateful bitch," Lewis said.

"No!"

"Where's the gun, Marty? Why don't you tell me where the gun is?" Kellerman jumped in.

"Don't know nothing about no gun."

"But you said you had a gun. I don't know, Lewis, do you remember him saying he had a gun." Mike turned toward his partner.

"An unregistered weapon, too. I think I did hear that, Kellerman."

"Well if you heard it, and I heard it--"

"I didn't kill Jaime. Ain't you hearing a word I say? It was that other guy!"

"You know, I wonder how many of the mokes up at Jesseup had their crime committed by another guy?" Lewis shook his head sadly.

"Too many. Damn, our justice system must not be all it's cracked up to be if we can't catch that other guy," Kellerman agreed mournfully.

"Why won't you listen to me?"

"I'm listening, Marty," Lewis said. "We got your prints on the scene. Even your lying mouth admits you was there. The girl was one of your stable, and a more or less respectable witness is saying you killed her. You got a gun. Now start telling the truth, before you make this any worse for your sorry self than it already is."

"I didn't kill--"  
It was a long torturous couple of hours.

Kellerman finished typing his report with a sigh of relief. Danvers had agreed that there was enough circumstantial evidence to charge the pimp. He just looked like a better suspect to a jury than a tax lawyer with no possible motive for killing her. Mike wasn't happy about the was the case had gone down, but it was out of his hair and he wouldn't have to think about it until it went to trial. If the damn thing even went to trial.

The thing with Cranston had never ironed itself out to his satisfaction, but the way things stood Danvers didn't believe they had a hope in hell with a grand jury, much less a trial. Mike made mental plans to make sure that at least the Mrs. wouldn't be left in the dark.

He almost didn't notice when Lewis walked up to his desk and dropped something on it.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded when he saw an address scribbled hastily on notepaper. "We're off in an hour."

"Don't worry about it. Munch and Stivers took the call, I just thought you'd wanna know."

"Know what? What is this, some kind of practical joke?"

"Kareen Monroe from a couple of days ago ate her gun."

"The one with the SIDS baby? You're kidding."

"Nah. She paid for the kid's funeral, went home, and offed herself."

Mike shuddered. "Poor lady."

"Could you tell?" Lewis asked, an urgent look in his dark eyes.

"Huh?"

"You couldn't tell from talking to her the other day that she was gonna do it, could you?"

Kellerman stared at his partner in confusion. "How the hell are you supposed to tell something like that just by looking at someone?"

Lewis shrugged, but looked visibly more at ease. "Never mind. Just curious."

"Whatever."

"And, Mikey, I'm sorry about your cigarettes."

"What was that?"

"You heard me."

"Did the word 'sorry' actually leave your mouth, or am I hearing things?" Mike asked gleefully.

"You hearing things. Better talk to the department shrink."

"That's what I thought. Fuck the cigarettes. I'm quitting."

"Sure you are, man. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Maybe we can get a little black under your name for a change."  
Epilogue

It was late, but the Waterfront actually had customers from outside the homicide unit for once when Lewis finally showed up to relieve Billy Lou at the end of her shift.

Kellerman was at his usual spot at the end of the bar, a shot of Wild Turkey easily within his reach and a morose expression on his face.

"Hey, hey, hey. What is your narrow behind doing in this establishment on a Saturday night, Mikey? I thought you and tattoo girl had a date."

"That bitch?" Mike spat. "Like I'd ever get near her again without a ten foot pole."

Lewis laughed out loud. "I ain't saying I told ya so."

"What do you mean you ain't? You just did." Mike sneered.

"And I was right too. Have another round, man, on the house. You look like you need one." Lewis poured him a shot. Mike stared at it blankly but didn't reach for it.

"So... you know Bayliss is starting back next week. Desk duty anyway," Lewis broke the sudden silence.

"I heard. I'm still waiting for Pembleton to break out a special padded chair or something."

Lewis snickered. "Frank the mother hen. That'd be something to see."

"Never happen, of course." Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum.

"Nah. You chewing gum again?" Lewis remarked, rather obviously.

"Better for you than smoking."

"It is that. Can I ask you something, man?" Lewis asked tentatively. Mike nodded his assent. "You and me, we okay?"

"Yeah, we're cool."

"Well, that's good to know."

"It is, isn't it?" Kellerman dimpled and stretched in his chair, looking unnaturally self-satisfied.


End file.
